


Full Circle

by lamardeuse



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-27
Updated: 2010-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim contemplates fate and buys a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the amazingly talented Lorraine.

It was one of those days that some people believed foreboded evil, the sky dark and lowering, the winds howling, slamming the ice-cold rain into your face as you walked.  Jim himself was not one of them, but this was probably because they’d forced him to read _Wuthering Heights_ in the eighth grade and the book was full of that kind of stuff, thunderstorms and death scenes, and he hated it because of that.  Well, that and the fact he could never get over the teacher and half the girls in the class oohing and aahing over Heathcliff, like being constantly pissed off was supposed to make you some kind of heroic figure.

The irony of this was lost on him because he wanted it to be.

He came home grumpy and out of sorts, and so even though it was his night to cook, Blair offered to throw together a stir-fry.  Though he’d never admit it, it warmed him in odd places to see Blair futzing around in the kitchen, chopping celery and bok choi so that Jim could turn his brain off for a few precious hours.  It warmed him to think that the next time Blair came home in a similar state of mind, Jim would do the same for him.

He kept wondering what to call that feeling, but the name for it stayed out of his reach, hanging there in the cushioning silences he’d built around himself.

At any rate, the day was definitely looking up by the time he and Blair sat down to a healthy yet surprisingly delicious meal, and he was about to tell Sandburg exactly that when the phone rang.   Jim got up from the table and walked over to pick it up just as the curtains were backlit by the electric fire of a lightning bolt.

“Ellison here.”

There was a pause on the other line while the thunder rolled overhead.  “Oh, I’m sorry.”  The voice was low and cultured.  “I must have the wrong number.  I was looking for Blair Sandburg.”

“He’s here.  Hang on.”  Jim handed the phone to Blair, who mouthed _Who is it? _ Jim shrugged and jerked the receiver impatiently, and Blair made a goofball face at him before taking it.

“Hello?”  

Jim couldn’t help but hear the voice on the other end of the line.  _“Blair?  Is that you?”_

“Who…oh my God.”

_“Nope.  Guess again.”_

“Sam?” The word in Blair’s mouth was almost a prayer; Jim’s ears pricked up even further, if such a thing were possible.  He watched the other man break into a blinding grin.  “How the hell are you, man?”

_“Better, now that I’ve found you.”_

Blair clapped a hand over his mouth.  “Oh, shit.  I forgot to tell you you couldn’t reach me at the university any more.”

_“Luckily I have boundless charm, and I wheedled your home number out of the sweet receptionist in the Anthropology department.  Have you really become a cop?”_

“Uh.  Yeah.”

_“I can’t wait to hear _that _story.”_

Blair ran a hand through his hair.  “Yeah, I can’t really talk now—how about I call you, uh, later?”

_“I have a better idea.  How about I take you out to your favorite restaurant, say, tomorrow night?”_  
__  
Blair’s jaw dropped.  “Are you—are you in _Cascade_?”  

_“Brilliant deduction, genius boy.”_

Jim concentrated on shoving jasmine curried rice into his mouth, but his sense of taste seemed to have shut down in favor of hearing.

“No.  Fucking.  Way.  I don’t believe you.”

_“Believe it.  So, you want to get together or not?”_  
__  
“Oh, hell no,” Blair said, and Jim couldn’t help but notice that there was a tremor in his voice now, a tremor of anticipation, excitement—“No, sorry, I’m all booked up.”

_“Eat me.”_

“You wish!” Blair said, laughing.  He darted a glance at Jim, who felt his face heat with guilt.  “Whatever you want, man, I’ll be there.”

_“I wish you were this easy the last time I saw you.”_

“Yeah, uh—”  This time it was Blair’s face that was rosy.  “How about Rigoletto’s?  It’s on West Republic, close to the arena.”

_“I’ll find it.  Seven okay?”_

“Perfect.  See you then, man.  It’s been too long.”

_“I know, I’ve been a bad boy.  You can punish me tomorrow.” _ There was the soft click of a connection being severed.  Jim speared a sliver of red bell pepper and brought it to his mouth, where he tried to remember what to do with it.

_Eat me,_ said the pepper.  So he did.

“So who’s Sam?” Jim heard himself say, after he’d chewed and swallowed successfully.  “A friend from school?”

Blair was still staring at the phone receiver in his hand as though it contained all the secrets of the universe.  After a moment, he blinked and said, “Yeah, sort of.  We met in kindergarten.”

“Kindergarten?”  As he did at any insights into Blair’s childhood, he perked up at this.  “Where was that?”

“Fort Worth.  We were staying with some of those cousins I told you about.”

Jim leaned forward as Blair returned to the table.  “For how long?”

Blair thought about it.  “Couple of years.”

“What does he do now?” It occurred to Jim that this was starting to sound like an interrogation, but fortunately Blair either didn’t mind or didn’t notice.

“He works for Greenpeace.  Started out on the front lines, and now he’s one of their hotshot environmental lawyers.  He’s been living in Brussels the last couple of years.”

Jim tried not to wonder why Blair’s answers, normally so detailed each one was a Tolstoy novel, were so curt tonight.  Instead, he soldiered on.  “So you kept in touch, I guess.”

Blair rubbed the back of his neck, a self-conscious gesture Jim rarely saw the younger man use.  “When we were kids, yeah, a lot.  Since then, he sends me some crazy thing from wherever he happens to be about once a year, and I’ve talked to him on the phone a few times, but we haven’t met face to face since we were sixteen.”  A shadow of a memory crossed Sandburg’s features then, and Jim found himself desperately trying to read it.  But then Blair shook his head, and the shadow disappeared.  “Phew,” he breathed.  “Man.  I’m gonna see Sam again.”

Jim stabbed at another piece of pepper.  “I’m glad for you, Chief.  It’s good to get together with old friends.”  He remembered some of the old friends he’d hooked up with over the years, and suppressed a shudder.  _Sometimes._

“Yeah,” Blair said absently, returning to his meal, diving into it with nervous, jittery gusto.

Jim watched him eat for a couple of minutes, then, feeling foolish, transferred his attention back to his own cooling supper.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Hey, where’s Blair?”

Jim slid into the booth beside Rafe and reached for the pitcher of Molson.  “He couldn’t make it,” Jim said gruffly.

Taggart raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment on how Jim had failed to answer the question.  Pretty soon the conversation started up again—Henri and Rafe bitching about the latest round of sleazebags they were investigating, Joel enthusing about his latest shiny toy, a new robot for the bomb disposal unit.  

Sam had been in town for nearly a week, and Blair had been out with him every night.  Jim told himself he was happy for Blair, because they were obviously great friends who were getting a chance to reconnect, and Blair came home flushed and happy, and what kind of an ogre wouldn’t be—well, happy—about that?  So what if Sandburg got home later and later each night?  He was always fresh and ready to go each morning, so Jim had no right to complain about his work performance.  He had no right to complain about anything, until Blair had come to him this morning and told him he wouldn’t be able to go on the fishing trip they’d planned for the weekend.  He apologized up and down, but Sam was leaving the country Sunday morning, and he’d asked Blair to go with him to Seattle tomorrow, just on an impulse—

Jim had felt the anger rising to the surface as he stood there staring at Blair over the kitchen island.  After all, giving him less than twenty-four hours’ notice had to violate some rule of etiquette, something Miss Manners would be sure to agree with him on, if he wrote to her with a detailed description of the situation.  Add to that the fact that both Saturday and Sunday were supposed to be warm and sunny, which qualified as a genuine miracle for Washington State in May, and Jim’s pissy mood seemed to have some justification.  Blair, however, managed to escape unscathed, because if Jim had actually learned something in the last four years it was that it _wasn’t _all about him, and so he’d plastered on a smile and told Sandburg it was no problem, and of course Blair had to take advantage of this opportunity to spend as much time with his friend as possible.

So the work day had passed as companionably as always, Jim and Blair spending most of it catching up on paperwork from the last couple of cases, and if Jim’s gaze strayed to consider Blair’s ever-tousled head (true to his word, he had not cut his hair even after six months as a cop, and everyone still assumed he was attached to Narcotics) as he proofread his report for errors, well, couldn’t a guy look at his partner now and then?  

And when Blair had left for the day, Jim had an odd moment when they parted ways—Jim to the TGIF gathering at Lindy’s, Blair to Sam’s hotel to pick him up and do—whatever they were going to do.  Blair looked up at him just as he was looking down, and their faces seemed closer than they’d been in a long time.  Jim focused in on Blair’s lips, and suddenly he remembered with startling clarity the feel of Blair’s cold, lifeless mouth against his as he desperately forced oxygen into Sandburg’s water-choked lungs.

Jim was so close he felt the puff of air from that mouth when Blair said his name in quiet confusion.  He took a step backward as if Blair had struck him.

He muttered something half-assed about having a good time, and then he was moving, taking the stairs instead of the elevator because he needed to clear his head, though what he needed to clear out of it he didn’t want to even consider, because that was—

_Left, right, left, right, huhleft, right, huhleft—_  
__  
_I don’t care what I been told—_  
_Army chow’s no better’n mold._  
__  
_Sound off_  
_One, two_  
_Sound off_  
_Three, four—_

By the time he reached the lobby, he was feeling a lot better.  Maybe he’d call Simon and see if he wanted to do a little fishing.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Jim got back around four on Sunday afternoon with two nice-sized fish, caught only hours before.  He picked up a lemon, some fresh dill and asparagus on the way home and was planning to cook for Sandburg tonight.  Of course, anything he’d make couldn’t measure up to all the fancy restaurants Sam had been taking him to the past few nights, but Blair always got weak in the knees for a good rainbow trout—

He picked up the sound of Blair’s quiet, even breathing as he left the elevator.  It took him a couple of seconds to register that it was too slow and measured for Blair to be conscious.

He dropped his bags and entered the loft with his gun drawn.

Blair was fast asleep on the couch, one arm flung up against the back of the sofa as though he’d conked out in mid-gesture.  Jim’s frantic gaze took in his intact, uninjured state and transferred the information to his brain.  When it finally shut off his panic reflex, he stood there for another moment, then forced his legs to carry him back out to the hall.   There, he sheepishly picked up his groceries and fishing rod and overnight bag and sleeping roll under the curious gaze of Mrs. Rosenberg in 305, who’d baked them a cake last month to thank them for being such good neighbors.

“You boys go on a trip?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes,” Jim said, not bothering to explain they hadn’t gone on the same trip.  “Just got back.”

“I think it’s lovely you get along so well,” she said.  “Such nice young people you are.”

“Thank you,” Jim said, smiling at her so hard he thought he might frighten her, but she only smiled back and patted his cheek.  

“Such a sweet couple,” she murmured as she retreated back into her apartment, no doubt believing the comment was pitched for her ears alone.  Jim flushed with embarrassment and an awareness he’d fought to suppress for the last two days.

Inside the loft, he set about methodically putting away his gear and the food, tiptoeing around like a burglar in his own house, trying to delay the inevitable, because the only reason Sandburg could be sleeping at four in the afternoon was that he’d been up all night and that led Jim’s mind down several steep and rocky paths that mostly seemed to end in painful conversations.

The fridge door got away from him and closed with a heavy _thunk_.  Blair snorted and flailed his outstretched arm, then sat bolt upright on the couch.  “Jim?”

“Yeah,” Jim acknowledged dully.

“Whenjuh get back?”

“Just now,” Jim said, staring at the lemon where it lay abandoned on the counter.  Should he put that in the fridge too?

“You okay?”

Jim turned around to look at Blair, giving him his best blank expression.  “Yeah.  You?”

Blair chuckled softly, the sound ricocheting off the walls and hammering at Jim’s skull.  “Not really.”  He took a deep breath, and his next words were rough and jagged.  “Uh, I’m pretty fucked up, actually.”

Jim took a step, then another, until he was standing beside the coffee table, stupidly trying to decide where to sit.  Then Blair swung his legs off the couch, making room, and the decision was made for him.

He sat silently, waiting for Blair to talk because it wasn’t his style to encourage Blair to open up.  Besides, it wouldn’t be long before Blair opened up anyway, spilling his contents over the couch and the floor and Jim and everything, making another goddamned mess that Jim would have to clean up.

“You believe in fate, Jim?”

And how the hell was he supposed to answer _that_?  If he stayed in character and said something witty like,_ I think it’s bullshit,_ he’d probably hurt Sandburg’s feelings.  If he told the truth and admitted he’d been thinking about it a lot lately, especially in the mornings when Jim ate the perfectly cooked eggs that Blair made for him or listened to the kid mangle Sam &amp; Dave tunes in the shower—well.  Where would that leave them?

So he opted for the middle ground, a mumble accompanied by a shrug.  “I dunno.  I guess anything’s possible.”

This seemed to satisfy Blair, because he said, “Yeah.  ‘S kind of the way I’ve always thought too.  But see, Sam believes in fate.  Big time.”  Blair breathed in a couple of times through his nose, as though the next words hurt him.  “He, uh, he thinks _I’m _his fate.”

Jim was having trouble staying focused on Blair’s words; his attention kept sharpening, zooming in on a strand of the other man’s hair or the low hum of electricity through the wires embedded in the wall.  He did finally manage to croak, “What’s that supposed to mean?”  The words themselves were harsh, but his hollow voice lessened the sting.

All the same, Blair flinched slightly before continuing.   He stared straight ahead as he spoke, not looking at Jim.  “You gotta understand something.  We were—really close as kids.  People used to joke about how you never saw us apart.  Jesus, I remember I was so mad at Naomi when she suddenly decided to move to that commune in the San Fernando Valley.  She promised we’d still spend summers in Texas, though, and that kept me from hating her. “  Blair sighed.  “We became blood brothers before I left, you know, prick the finger, solemn vows, and I remember he said to me, _This means we’ll never be apart._  I mean, seven, eight years old, and he’s saying this kind of stuff.  Still, I felt it too, to some extent—there _was_ a connection between us—I’d never felt anything like it.  For years, he’d call me right before I was going to call him, or I’d think about him and a letter would be waiting for me when I got home.  It was—it was a constant in a nomadic life, you know?  Sam meant stability and comfort to me.  What I meant to him—” Blair shrugged “—well, I didn’t think about that.

“When we were sixteen he visited me in Cascade.  I was just about to start at Rainier, and he was headed off to spend a year in Israel.  He—uh—that’s when he came out to me.”  Blair tumbled to a halt, then took another deep breath and plunged ahead.  “He told me he loved me, that he was sure we were destined to be together, and that if I said the word he wouldn’t leave, he’d stay by my side forever.”

Jim was fascinated by the perfection of the window glass.  He wondered absently if he could zoom in close enough to pick out imperfections in its seemingly flawless surface.

“I imagine you can guess what happened.  Blair Sandburg at sixteen was about a thousand times more afraid of commitment than Blair Sandburg, Y2K version.  I was also completely infatuated by the possibilities of the fairer sex, and they were beginning to exhibit an interest in me, wonder of wonders.  And I suppose some of it was genuine worry for him—he had a definite plan in life, and I didn’t want him to throw all that away for me.  Anyway, I tried to let him down gently, but I imagine that to him I came across as an insensitive asshole.   He left, and we didn’t talk for another two years.”

Jim tore himself away from his glass inspection to offer a relevant comment.  “That must have been tough,” he said softly, surprised to find himself hating Sam with every fiber of his being.

“Yeah.  I eventually tracked him down and we kind of made it up, but since then there’s been a distance between us.”

“Until this week.”

Blair finally looked at him then, expression revealing the surprise Jim also felt at his own words.  “Uh, well…”  He closed his eyes briefly.  “Jesus, this is hard to say.”

Jim’s jaw clenched.  “Just say it.”

The words exited Blair in a rush.  “Sam’s next assignment is going to be in South America—based out of Ecuador, mainly, but traveling all over.  And he wants me to come with him.  He’s got connections with some of the universities down there, and several of them would be willing to take me on.”  One corner of his mouth lifted.  “He did his homework, knew about what happened with the diss even though I hadn’t told him.  He’s a good lawyer—he presented his case with lots of convincing evidence.  He’s sure I could finish my doctorate within a year.”

Jim opened his mouth, then closed it.  What was he going to say? _ I thought you wanted to be a cop?_  He knew that wasn’t true; Jim had practically railroaded him into it.   Sure, Blair hadn’t complained, even seemed to enjoy the work they did, but it wasn’t always a perfect fit, and they both knew it.  _I thought you were over the whole diss thing?_  Also not true; Sandburg had thrown away everything he’d been working towards for a decade and more.  You didn’t just carve a chunk that big out of yourself and expect it not to keep bleeding for a hell of a long time.

So basically that only left_ I thought you wanted to be with me._

He opened his mouth again.

“Do you love him?”  All right, that sounded angry, but angry was definitely in character so he let it stand.

Blair blew out a breath.  “Uh, that’s the tough part.  I do and I don’t.  I mean, I love him like a friend, but I don’t know if I can ever love him like he wants me to.  I told him that last night, and we talked about it—for hours.”  He ran a hand through his hair.  “Once again, he had all his arguments neatly lined up.  He told me he had no expectations, that he just wanted the chance to—well.  You don’t want to hear all that, do you?  The bottom line is…by the morning, I heard myself telling him I’d think about it.”  He darted a glance at Jim.  “I spent the rest of the drive home convinced I’d gone crazy.”

_Or maybe the last four years has been the crazy part, _Jim thought, _and this is where the sanity begins._  Blair seemed to be looking for some kind of reaction from him, and the only words that were likely to come of his mouth now were childish, words like _what about the Sentinel thing_ or _please don’t leave me._

Maybe Sandburg had found his destiny.  And that left Jim with his, a future without Blair, without the comfort and constancy he was only now beginning to understand and appreciate.

The irony of this was lost on him because he wanted it to be.

He stood abruptly.  “I, uh, I’m gonna, Stephen wanted me to come over tonight and help him with Deborah’s car,” he lied.  “There’s a trout in the fridge for you—go ahead and cook it up if you want.  If you don’t, just, uh, throw ‘em in the freezer.”

“Jim—”

But Jim was already halfway out the door, and with a muttered, “See you later,” he was gone.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Monday sucked, and not simply because it was Monday.  Jim had managed to get a total of about fifteen minutes’ sleep, partly because he didn’t return to the loft until after midnight and partly because he spent the rest of the night thinking.  Mainly he thought about Blair and Sam, about the two of them in Ecuador, Blair going to the university and making Sam perfectly cooked eggs, singing in the shower.  Would Sam even recognize any of the old R&amp;B songs Blair liked to belt out?  

More importantly, would he know the Blair that existed now, the brave, calm side to him that showed itself whenever there were people around who needed it?  Would Blair tell Sam about last month, when he had rescued that girl from the hostage situation, risked his own life to talk the girl’s dad out of killing her and her mom for the sin of leaving him?  

Jim remembered how Blair had lain in bed that night, crying quietly for the girl, for her mother, perhaps even a little for himself.   He remembered how it had taken all of Jim’s strength not to go to him and gather the younger man in his arms, not because Blair needed comforting, but because Jim needed to touch him, to reassure himself that Blair was still alive, still whole.

_Detach with love,_ Naomi was fond of saying.  Well, she’d never managed to teach her son that skill, and Jim was glad of it.  Blair’s flaw, if it was one, was that he loved too much.  A person like that becoming a cop was a mistake; he’d keep sacrificing pieces of his heart every day on the job until he just bled out, until there was nothing left but a dried-out husk.  One of these days he’d find someone who could appreciate his heart, keep it safe.  Maybe Sam—

_No._

He darted a glance around the bullpen, half suspecting he’d said the word aloud, shouted it even, but no one was looking his way.  Blair was off somewhere interviewing a witness in their latest case; they hadn’t talked much that day.  They took both vehicles to work because they figured they’d get more accomplished separately.

“Looks like a lot of grunt work today,” Blair had said.  “You want to do the interviews, or you want to check the files?”

“Files,” Jim answered, not wanting to admit he was so exhausted he didn’t trust himself behind the wheel for any amount of time.

He found himself staring sightlessly at the computer monitor, realizing he’d spent the last twenty minutes reading reports and not absorbing one damned thing.  Annoyed at himself, he closed the files and logged on to the Internet, and the next thing he knew he was surfing the University of Toronto website.

Would anybody give a shit about Blair’s record in Canada?  Probably.  But he knew a guy at U of T—an old Army buddy who’d left the service around the same time as Jim and decided to put his language degrees to work.  He’d made professor last year.  Would he have any pull, know any loopholes?

Jim searched through the faculty page until he found Lou’s number, then picked up the phone and started dialing.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Jim let himself into the apartment Monday night with the smell of frying rainbow trout heavy in his nostrils.  Blair turned to greet him with a smile on his face that stopped his breathing.

Oh, Christ.  Blair had decided.  Blair was leaving.

“I didn’t have the heart to freeze them,” Blair said, smile fading slowly as he regarded Jim, took in whatever was bleeding into his expression.

Jim took a deep breath, let it out.  “Smells good,” he said, then pointed upstairs.  “I’m just gonna change.”

“Sure, man.  I’ve got it covered.  You catch ‘em, I’ll cook ‘em.”

Jim felt a wave of nausea sweep over him, and then he was climbing the stairs two at a time.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

_Blair, I have good news._

Was it good news?

_Blair, here’s the thing.  You don’t have to go to South America to get your doctorate.  _

“So, what do you think?”

“Hm?”  Jim swallowed and stared at Blair, who gestured at the food.  “Oh, great, great.  Sorry.”

“No problem.  You’re really into it, huh?”

“Yeah.”  Jim cleared his throat.  “No.”

Blair regarded him with trepidation, then said, “Uh, Jim, listen, I—”

And suddenly it became very important that Blair not continue to speak, because Blair couldn’t make an informed decision yet, he didn’t have all the facts, and so anything he said now might have to be revised later.  

So Jim said, “I talked to a guy I know at the University of Toronto today.”

Blair blinked at him, frowned slightly.  “Okay…”

“And he talked to a guy he knows in the Anthropology department—”  Blair stiffened but remained silent “—and they’ve set up an interview for you on the twenty-third.  If you want.”  He leaned down and reached for the envelope he’d stashed under his chair.  “And I got you an early birthday present.  Return flight, a night in a hotel.  All expenses paid.”

Blair’s mouth thinned, but he still didn’t speak.  Jim swallowed and pushed the envelope toward Blair.  “I, uh, I just wanted to offer you another—option.”

Blair took the envelope from him without looking at it.  “So I wouldn’t have to whore myself to a guy to get my doctorate?  Is that it?”

Jim goggled at him.  “What?”

Blair shook his head vehemently.  “I shouldn’t have told you about Sam—about how he felt.  I shouldn’t have told you the whole story.  Now you think I’m—that I—”

“Wait a minute,” Jim said, fighting rising tides of panic and anger.  “I don’t think anything, Sandburg.  I just want you to be happy.”

“So you think this’ll make me happy?” Blair demanded, waving the envelope.  “Jesus, Sam’s trying to pull me in one direction, and now you’re trying to push me in another.”  He rose to his feet and loomed over the table, hair wild, breathing labored.

“I’m not trying to push you anywhere!  Will you just listen to me?”

Blair took a deep breath and let it out.  “Okay.  I’m listening.”  He remained standing but  a little of the tension eased from his muscles.

Suddenly confronted with an attentive, if quietly hostile, Blair, Jim found himself completely at a loss for words.  _Just open your mouth and let it come out._

“I know you don’t want to be a cop,” was what came out.  Blair frowned and leaned forward, but Jim held up a hand.  “Hear me out.  I—I see what it does to you.  What it’s been doing to you.  You feel everything so much, and it gets to you.  It’s gonna eat you alive—it’s already starting to.  And I don’t—I don’t want to see that happen to you, Chief.  You deserve more than—that.”

Jesus.  He’d almost said _you deserve more than me._

Blair’s voice was hollow and defeated when he spoke.  “So you’re saying I can’t cut it as a cop?  That I’m not good enough?”

Jim sprang to his feet.  “No!  Dammit, don’t you get it?  You’re _too _good.”  In an instant he was standing in front of Blair, hands digging into his upper arms.  “You would have figured it out eventually, Sandburg.  Just look at this whole thing as—a wake-up call.  You should give it some thought.  If you can get back what you had before—whether it’s with your career, or with Sam, or both—shouldn’t you at least consider it?”

Holy shit, what was he doing?  He was practically _begging _Sandburg to leave him.  

_It’s for the best,_ he told himself firmly.  _It’s what he needs._

Blair looked up at him, his face open and raw for a moment before the mask fell.  His sensual mouth acquired an uncharacteristically wry twist.  “Yeah, I should consider it.  And maybe you should consider that this is where I want to be and what I want to be doing.  Because I don’t think _you’ve _ever figured that out, either.”

And then he stepped back, breaking Jim’s hold on him.  Jim stood there and watched him go, then continued to stand there while the remains of their supper congealed into an unappetizing mess.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

It was after midnight when Blair got home.  Jim heard the elevator doors open and listened for the sound of Blair’s heartbeat.  He found it, steady and sure.  

_“Jim?  You awake?”_

Jim stared up at the skylight, where a sliver of moonlight sliced through the glass and fell across his bed.

_”I’ve done my considering.  Want to know what I figured out?”_

“No,” Jim whispered, knowing Blair couldn’t hear him.

The door opened, and Jim sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then reached for his robe.  By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Blair was beginning to climb them.  Their gazes met and held.  Jim held his breath as he tried to read the answer in Blair’s shadowed face.

“Up or down?” Blair asked.  His hands fisted and released at his sides repeatedly.  Jim searched the air for traces of alcohol, found none.  Just…coffee.  To Jim, the other man smelled like he’d been swimming in the stuff.

“Down,” Jim rasped, starting his descent.  Blair nodded curtly and jittered over to the couch.  

“Sorry I’m so wired,” Blair said.  “I’ve spent the last five hours sitting in a Starbucks.  Unless you keep buying beverages, they boot your ass out.”

Jim nodded.  Blair always turned up his nose at decaf.

“Besides,” Blair said as Jim sat down beside him, “I figured if I couldn’t have Dutch courage, I’d have a little Colombian.”  He snorted at his own joke.

“You don’t need extra courage,” Jim said gruffly.  “You’ve got plenty of your own.”

“Yeah, balls of steel, that’s me,” Blair muttered.  “Okay, I had this whole thing planned out, so I’ll just start, all right?”  He turned toward Jim, drawing up one leg so that they were face to face.  “First, the cop thing.  I want you to listen to me, and listen to me carefully:  I.  Want.  To.  Be.  A.  Cop.”  He punctuated each word with the tap of an index finger on Jim’s knee; Jim tried his best not to be distracted by this.

“So why did you consider Sam’s off—”

Blair raised the finger and waved it in Jim’s face.  “Kindly do not interrupt,” he admonished.  “And keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times, until the conductor has brought it to a full and complete stop.”  He smiled at Jim’s scowl.  “Remember that time—you probably don’t, it’s okay—when I told you I had enough material to finish the diss?  You asked why I was sticking with it, and I told you that going back to academic life after working with you would be like going back to the merry-go-round after sampling the roller coaster.  Well, when you threw me that badge last year, it was like you were giving me an entire roll of tickets to the thrill ride, man.  No _way _was I gonna pass that up.

“I know I’m not the perfect cop in some ways.  I know I’ll never be able to fully detach myself from the job, to distance myself from a murder victim once I’ve learned about him or a little girl once I’ve held her in my arms—” his smile turned wistful “—but you know what?  I’m okay with that.  And it’s not going to eat me alive, because the feeling I get when we find a killer or save a life—it fills me up, Jim.  It replaces whatever I lose, and then some.  As satisfying as it was intellectually, I know I’d never have found anything like that in the life I had.”

Blair rested an elbow against the back of the couch.  “Now.  That takes care of the cop thing.  On to the Sam thing.  I—”   He trailed off, then stared at Jim for a moment.  “Oh, shit,” he breathed, chuckling.  “I figured if I gathered enough momentum and drank enough caffeine, I could get it all out.”

Blair shut his eyes for a few seconds, keeping them closed while he began to speak again.  Jim took the opportunity to study the way his long lashes lay against the planes of his cheeks.  “The funny thing about Sam is, I do love him.”

Jim’s heart stopped beating.  Blair’s eyes opened, and for an instant Jim was sure the younger man could see everything, every feeling, every secret that Jim couldn’t even admit to himself.  Blair tilted his head slightly, like a dog hearing a new sound, and then continued on.

“But although we have this history and this connection, he doesn’t _know _me, and I don’t know him.”  Blair shrugged.  “I guess I don’t believe in that kind of fate.   Sure, maybe it exists, but I think you also have to have a hand in making your path, give it a shove every now and then to get it to go the way you want.  Still, the fact that I considered his offer at all made me wonder if I was missing something—if maybe it was a wake-up call, like you said.”  He moved a little closer, hitched his leg up further on the seat cushion.  “It took me a long time to figure out what kind of a wake-up call it was, though.  Hence the late hour.”

Jim’s heart restarted with a resounding _thunk_, then clattered loudly in his chest for a while.  He considered running for his life.

Blair cocked his head again.  “So that just leaves me with the one thing I couldn’t completely figure out sitting on my ass at the Starbucks:  why were you so eager to send me off to Toronto?”

“Wh—what do you mean?” Jim spluttered, taken aback.  “I already answered that.”

Blair snorted.  “Yeah, well, I don’t mean to sound critical, but your answer really sucked, Jim.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Jim muttered, looking away.

“You’re not a disappointment,” Blair admonished gently.  “Never that.”  He took a deep breath.  “Want to know my theory?”

“Can I stop you?” Jim breezed.

Blair chuckled.  “Yeah, Jim, you probably could.  Because Mr. Balls of Steel is scared shitless right now.”  He looked into Jim’s eyes, and Jim felt some barrier inside himself crumble into dust, just like that.  Blair was always doing that to him; it drove him _nuts_.

Although at the moment, the only emotion he could summon was gratitude.

“So tell me,” Jim murmured.

Needing no further encouragement, Blair flowed into Jim’s space like the tide, inevitable and unstoppable.  “Because you were jealous as hell.  Because you would’ve been a thousand times happier to see me alone in Toronto than with Sam in Ecuador,” he said fervently.  

“You think so, huh?” Jim rasped.  

“Yeah,” Blair said, nodding jerkily, gaze firmly attached to Jim’s mouth.  

Jim rode the double-edged sword of fear and excitement as he closed the gap between them, until his mouth hovered mere inches from Blair’s.  He felt a jolt of pure electricity in his gut as Blair’s nervous breath puffed against his sensitized lips.

_God, _he thought, savoring the way the blade skated dangerously over his skin.  _How did I ever live without this? How could I have ever thought about giving this away?_  
__  
One hand plunged itself into Blair’s hair, and the younger man gasped in surprise.  “How come you’re so sure?” Jim whispered, drawing him closer.

“Because I _know _you,” Blair husked, and then his lips brushed against Jim’s, and that was it, get on the damn ride and strap yourself in, because no _way _could he pass this up.

With a groan of surrender, Jim opened his mouth to Blair’s and his heart to their own brand of destiny.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

_Three Months Later_

  
Jim was awakened by the _crack _of thunder, followed swiftly by the sound of rain battering the skylight.  Beside him, Blair’s body convulsed.

“Shit,” Blair muttered.  He scratched at his ear, then rolled onto his stomach.

“Go back to sleep,” Jim said, pressing a kiss to his temple.  

“Dayzit?”

“Saturday,” Jim murmured.  “And all quiet on the Western Front, so no bad guys to catch today.”

“How ‘bout good guys?”  Blair’s hand shot out, and with commendable accuracy considering his face was buried in the pillow, found Jim’s morning erection with practiced ease.

“Mm, caught me one,” Blair said, turning his head to the side and revealing a Cheshire grin that made Jim even harder.

 “Jeez,” Jim mock-complained, “you trying to work off the calories in Mrs. Rosenberg’s cake?”

“If she knew what we did with her cake last night, she’d drop dead of a heart attack.”

“Nah,” Jim said, sliding a proprietary hand over Blair’s ass, “she’s great.  She thinks we’re a sweet couple.”

Blair raised his head and leaned over to lap at Jim’s nipple.  “_Very_ sweet,” he agreed, ending his taste test with a playful nip.

Jim’s answer to that was to roll on top of Blair, pinning the other man to the mattress.  Blair laughed and wiggled lasciviously under him.  “What happened to letting me sleep?”

Jim ground his hips into Blair’s.  “I’ve decided I’d rather keep you up,” he growled.  

“You trying to be a clever dick?” Blair said, grinning.  Jim groaned and thumped his head against Blair’s chest.  “Hey, I can match puns with the best of ‘em, pal.”

Jim silenced him with a kiss that left them both gasping for air.  “Well, we could do that,” Jim drawled, mouth pausing to suck on Blair’s earlobe.  “Or I could just stick with my original plan to fuck you into the mattress.”

“Hm.  Let me think about that one.  I think I’ll pick…the original plan.”  

“Good choice,” Jim murmured, proceeding in his southward journey down Blair’s sleek body, while Blair proceeded to gasp and moan and shout and beg.

“Oh…Jesus…just…like…_that_,” Blair panted, some time later.  Now flat on his belly, he rocked his hips with helpless abandon, desperately seeking relief by any means possible.

Strong hands gripped his body, stilling its frantic motion.  “Not yet,” Jim admonished, returning to his task with ruthless determination.  

“Jim,” Blair gritted, “you…now…_fuck_…if…please…me…”

Finally satisfied with his partner’s level of incoherence, Jim snagged a condom and the lube in one big hand.  He surged up and over Blair’s back, covering the trembling body with his own, pulling Blair up on his hands and knees as he did so.  Setting his teeth against Blair’s shoulder, Jim drove two slick fingers into him and was rewarded when Blair released a sound that was half whimper and half roar.

Blair flung his head back, sending the tempestuous mass of chestnut curls flying, and Jim turned his head to bury his face in them.  Christ, it was so unbelievably _good _to feel Blair lose control like this, to feel him unravel and know that Jim was the cause of it all, that Jim’s lips and teeth and tongue and hands had brought him to this place.  

With a wild sound of his own Jim reared up to watch himself disappear inside Blair’s tight yet yielding body.  And then there was nothing but rhythm and instinct and the ceaseless give and take of power, forming an endless, living circuit, until they both collapsed together, as sated as well-fed predators after a successful hunt.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“You believe in fate, Jim?”

Boneless and drowsy, Jim rested his head against Blair’s chest as the rain beat down above them.  Blair’s own arm was slung across Jim’s chest, fingers tracing absent patterns on the skin over the graceful sweep of collarbone.

“Yeah,” Jim admitted.  He’d been finding it a hell of a lot easier to admit things lately.  “I do.”

“You think that’s all this is?”

Jim raised his head and turned to look at his lover.  “What do you think it is?”

Blair smiled and shook his head.  “Uh-uh.  I asked you first.”

Jim laid his head back down and sighed.  “I’ve never liked the Western idea of linear progressions,” he said quietly.  “Birth, life, death, Heaven or Hell.  It lacks something.  The circle—now that makes sense to me.”

“I never would’ve pegged you for the reincarnation type,” Blair drawled.  “Wait ‘til I tell Naomi.”

“I don’t mean that exactly,” Jim said.  “I’m talking about the Native belief.  Everything comes in cycles; every ending is a link to the beginning. “  He took Blair’s hand in his own and held it in front of his face, studying the minute details of his skin, the pores, the fingerprints, the fine hairs.  “Life being the rule instead of the exception.”

“God, I love it when you get philosophical,” Blair breathed, his other hand stroking over Jim’s short hair, “and I love it when you _look _at me.  That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jim husked.  “I’m looking.”  He tapped the end of Blair’s pinkie.  “Your nails are dirty.”

“Dick,” Blair said affectionately, cuffing him on the side of the head.  “So, we’re part of a cycle?”

“Yeah,” Jim said, tugging the hand to his lips and kissing it in apology.  “After all, the first day we met you saved my life.”

“And the first day we met, you slammed me against a wall.”

“Mm,” Jim agreed.  “There’s that, too.”

“So everything we are now, we were at the beginning?” Blair said.  “That means it was love at first sight, man.  Or first slam.”  
   
Jim considered this for a moment.  “Nah.  It was love at first eggs.”

Blair laughed in disbelief.  “_What_?”

Jim grinned and returned to his study of Blair’s hand.  “You make damned good eggs, Chief.”

**Author's Note:**

> First published July 2004.


End file.
